Beneath Blackwater River Leslie Wolfe (me reader txt) 📖

in the big cities, in San Francisco over a hundred and fifty, twenty-seven after adding the color filter. None of them were registered in Franklin County, though.

“He could’ve taken her anywhere,” Elliot said, clearly disappointed. “I’ll never find this kid. It’s a needle in a haystack of needles the size of Dallas.”

“Bigger,” Kay replied with a quick smile. “Silicon Valley is home to about three million people, while Dallas—”

“Half of that,” he mumbled, “yeah, I know. Thanks for making me feel better. If we add the rest of California, we’re really screwed.”

She turned toward him even though the pain in her shoulder made her wince. “We’ll find her, Elliot. You and me. We’ll find Kirsten, I promise you that.”

He looked at her for a brief moment, the dismay in his blue eyes needing no words. Then he asked, “How?”

45Evangeline

The same housekeeper opened the door as soon as the chime died, recognizing Kay immediately and scowling with suspicion at Elliot’s badge. She stood in the doorway, unwilling to let them enter, her lips pressed into a tight line that ran parallel with the creases on her forehead.

Kay shook her head, without taking her eyes off hers. “Do we have to do this all over again?” she asked, gesturing with her phone. “Do I have to remind you—”

“Whom do you wish to see this time, ma’am?” she asked, her politeness a frozen and cracked façade. She still held the door handle tightly with one hand, while the other rested against the jamb, barring their entry.

“Bill Caldwell,” Kay replied, almost relieved. The middle-aged woman didn’t seem eager to face off with her, or maybe Bill Caldwell had left specific instructions in case cops came calling again.

Her lips parted in a cold smile, a glint of satisfaction flickering in her eyes. “Mr. Caldwell is not in right now. May I take a message?”

Kay studied the woman carefully. Was she lying? No… She seemed happy with the message she was delivering, and that contentment had to come from the fact that she could tell the truth and still block them from speaking with her employer.

“Does he normally leave this early?” Elliot asked. “It’s not even nine.”

She didn’t flinch. “He sometimes travels for business or spends the night in the city.”

“Which one is it?” Kay asked.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but Mr. Caldwell is under no obligation to inform me of his whereabouts.”

“I bet he isn’t,” Elliot replied, the sarcasm in his voice searing, but ineffective. The woman remained stony faced.

Unwilling to do an about-face and leave with her questions unanswered, Kay hesitated, her gaze locked with the stern eyes of the woman guarding the door. Maybe there was someone else who could shed some light on what had happened. If the girl in the morgue was Rose, but had lived as Alyssa since she was kidnapped, one of the questions was why. What had driven Bill Caldwell, apparently the only one who knew he was the father of Shelley’s daughter, to replace his legitimate daughter? Was it because, like Martha had mentioned, Alyssa had been sick? Had she died that year? Who else would know about it?

“In that case, we’ll need to speak with Mrs. Caldwell,” Kay said in a tone that left no room for pushback.

“Which one?” the woman asked coldly.

“Bill Caldwell’s wife.”

“I’m afraid that is not possible,” the woman replied. “Mrs. Evangeline Caldwell does not see anyone. She is gravely ill.” She spoke her name with contempt for Kay’s ignorance.

“All right,” Kay replied, tapping the passcode to unlock her phone. “I’ll ring for a warrant. The officers might pick her up and take her to the precinct for a formal interview, instead of the two of us asking a couple of questions, discreetly, by her bedside. But that’s your call.”

The woman finally stepped aside, her mouth twitching as if stifled oaths were budding to come out. “Follow me.”

She climbed the stairs to the second level without rushing, then led them to the farthest bedroom on the left of a long hallway. She knocked twice, before opening the door and letting them in.

The bedroom was a combination of traditional, lush furnishings and décor, and modern hospital technology. Where it probably used to home a four-poster bed, now a fully adjustable hospital bed took the space, surrounded by monitors and medical equipment on rolling carts. It was as if the world stopped at the door, and, inside that space, the reality of Evangeline’s illness changed everything it touched. The curtains were closed within an inch of each other, dimming the light in the room to almost complete darkness, except the far corner of the room, where a sunbeam pierced the darkness and hit the opposite wall. The faint smell of disinfectant and pharmaceuticals clung to Kay’s nostrils, reminding her of other hospital rooms she’d visited recently, but here, the scent carried undertones of air fresheners and body wash.

By the bedside, in the light of a small lamp, a nurse in hospital scrubs was reading a novel she promptly put down when they entered. She rushed to meet them. “What can I do for you?” she asked, her voice a low whisper.

Kay showed her badge. “Detectives Sharp and Young. We have a few questions for Mrs. Caldwell.”

The nurse clasped her hands together in front of her body. “I’m afraid that’s impossible,” she replied. “Mrs. Caldwell is resting and cannot be disturbed.”

Kay took one step forward, but the nurse held her ground. “I’m afraid I have to insist. This is official police business.”

“And I’m afraid I can’t allow it,” the nurse replied. She was a red-haired woman in her forties with freckles. “My only duty is to my patient’s well-being.”

“Let them come, Gina,” Mrs. Caldwell said, her voice a hoarse whisper. She waved them over with a gesture of her frail hand. Then she found a remote in the folds of her covers and pressed a button. The bed whirred, elevating her upright.

Evangeline Caldwell was emaciated, her pale skin seeming almost bluish in the pale light of the